


Rose

by fqllve



Series: Quartet [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 21:17:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fqllve/pseuds/fqllve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixteen year-old Rose Lalonde has a strained relationship with her alcoholic mother and desperately wants to escape her lonely home. However, when her opportunity approaches Rose's confidence falters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rose

It was raining. It had been raining constantly for the last two weeks and Rose was sick of it. The soft patter of the droplets on the roof lulled her into a lethargy from which she could not escape. Every day seemed an endless gray that she shuffled through barely conscious. Sometimes, as she sat and read, she would realize she could not remember the last few hours, as if she had been sitting there half asleep rereading the same paragraphs over and over completely unaware. And today it was raining too. She had expected no less.

She got out of bed in her lavender pajamas, unpatterned and shimmering silk, so light as if she were draped in the clouds that hung between the ground and the sun. She made a halfhearted attempt to stretch as she padded across the room to the doorway; her eyes were barely open and her muscles stiff. Her feet made fleeting impressions in the carpet, tracking her progress momentarily before expanding as if she had never passed.

She stepped out into the hallway. The whole house was dark. Her mother was still asleep, no doubt she would be until well after noon. It had been like that for as long as Rose could remember. They hardly ever spoke anymore, just lived in the house like two strangers in an apartment, avoiding even the sight of one another. Her mother had been an engineer, following in the steps of her own father, but then she had Rose. She had always intended to go back to work but when Rose's father died she sunk into a depression that she had still not come out of. Now she spent her days drinking and shopping, sometimes chatting with friends she only pretended to like. Rarely did she and Rose interact beyond the little gifts her mother would leave outside her door at night. Rose wished she could end even that.

She reached the bathroom which was the second door down. The light buzzed when she turned it on. Two teal crosses divided the floor, patterned into white tiles. The tiles were cold to her bare feet; her mother rarely heated the bathrooms.

She looked at herself in the mirror hazily, as if trying to remember who she was after forgetting herself in her dreams. She turned on the faucet and stuck her hands into the water, absently letting it run over them. After a while she pressed her cold palms to her face, covering her cheeks and eyes. The vibrating yellow light seeped into the new found darkness through the cracks in her fingers and it pressed through her closed eyelids pinkly.

She never had to get up this early because she did not go to school but everyday she forced herself to. She had a tutor but he would not show up until later in the day, after her mother awoke. She thought that maybe by setting an example she would shame her mother into changing but her mother didn't care or even notice. Her mother's room was over on the east wing, far away from where Rose ever was, and she was always in a deep drunk sleep. Rose's virtue never made any impression on her. But perhaps, when she was honest with herself, Rose could admit that it might have been her own little rebellion.

Rose emerged from the bathroom freshly showered and headed further down the hall. She descended a staircase and came out into the den. It was a large room with floor to ceiling windows on the outside wall and a sliding glass door looking out onto a stone balcony. The trees covering the hills surrounding her house were sapped of their color; the sun's light filtered by a sheet of clouds. Along the back wall were shelves abutting an ever unlit fireplace. They were covered in extravagant glass figurines of all kinds. Many of them were majestic beasts: horses midgallop, so real they appeared as if their spirit had been frozen in that instant; bears rearing up to strike with their powerful arms like boulders; or they were of stately men and elegant ladies, captured in moments from their lives of dignity and leisure. Hanging above the fireplace was a family portrait, painted when she was so young that Rose had to be seated in her mother's lap. Her mother sat morosely in a fine walnut chair while her father stood with one hand on the chair's back. Rose was pulling on her mother's pale green dress, facing her. Along the other two walls were white sofas and in the center of the room a glass table far from where it could serve any purpose other than decorative. Rose walked across the room and went through a doorway into the kitchen, directly behind the den.

The kitchen reflected the way Rose's mother saw the world, black and white. The tiles were spotted by bursts of black and the counters were a dark obsidian. Even the cabinets were pale white pine but all the appliances shone in a bright silver. Her mother never came in here. Sometimes there would be days when Rose wondered if she even ate, her only source of nourishment the alcohol.

Rose walked over to the fridge and as she approached turned to reach into the tall adjacent cabinet. She pulled a box of wheat flakes out and set it on the island in the center of the room. She grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge, the kind with the blue cap, and a bottle of orange-mango juice and set them both on the island as well, then she circled around to the opposite wall which had the sink and dishwasher both glimmering in the effervescent light. She reached up and took a round blue bowl from a stack and then a spoon from one of the drawers. She threw the spoon in the bowl and set them both on the island along with a glass.

The milk illuminated every crevice in the flakes as it rose in the bowl. She sat down on one of the stools surrounding the island and began eating her breakfast with disinterest, not bothering to put anything away.

After she finished, Rose cleaned up and went back through the den to the staircase. As she passed the portrait she thought of her father. All this was his fault, if he hadn't died then nothing would have turned out this way. When she was young her mother had told her only that he had died in a plane crash and Rose always imagined that it had been a passenger jet. It was only later that she learned the truth. He had crashed his single engine Cessna in a storm, out flying with a friend and colleague. They had been headed out on their yearly camping trip and her father was unperturbed by reports of bad weather. He was confident in his ability and he did not want to postpone their ritual unnecessarily. When they found it the plane had been too badly damaged for them to be sure but they found no signs of electrical or mechanical failure and it was ruled pilot's error. Everyone was surprised and Rose's mother never believed her husband could have made such a mistake.

She ascended the stairs and followed the hallway back to her room. When she got there she finally changed out of her pajamas into a shirt of soft pink and a plain black skirt that reached down to her ankles. She left her pajamas in a pile at the foot of the bed.

The far wall of the room was the outside wall that overlooked the porch. You could only see the edge of it from her window. Outside it was still damp and gloomy but the rain had abated and now fell almost unnoticeably. Rose expected it would be like this for the rest of the day, and feared it would last all week. The room was cluttered with books and clothes scattered about. There was no television, there had never been one in the house so Rose never missed it. Instead she spent most of her time reading gothic fiction. Tales of the madness and brutality of humans, tragedies of greed. Also scattered about were pencil sketchings grasping at the forms of unfathomable abominations, beings that proved the futility of everything humanity had done. Careless and unheeding far beyond our narrow scope. The beasts twisted and writhed through space devouring civilization after civilization to fulfill their insatiable longing. To Rose these horrors reflected the truth of the uncaring universe. And in the corner sat her violin. Unused, as it had been since Rose's mother had fired her tutor several months ago. Rose could find no inspiration to play it so she left it there forgotten.

Rose sat down on her bed and kicked her feet wishing there were anything she could do beyond what she always did. Her bed was sleek and modern but wide. It had no headboard or footboard and was covered in dark purple sheets. It was so hard for her to find something to do out here in the woods, miles from the nearest town. The only friends she had were online, unless you counted the children of her mother's guests who came so infrequently Rose could never remember any of their names. And her online friends, sometimes she wondered if they were even real, if everything they had ever told her was a lie. Other than that there was nothing else to do but play the few computer games that met her approval, mostly classic horror adventures with a few citybuilding sims thrown in.

Rose sighed and sat down at her computer.

 

***

 

Rose logged onto Pesterchum and saw that her friend John was online. He lived in the east but it was still unusual for him to be on at this time. The rest of her chumlist was empty. No one else was online. Rose breathed in to compose herself and connected to him in a chat session.

Blue text popped up in the window. "Hey Rose."

Rose typed. Her nails clicking against the wide flat keys of her laptop. When she hit enter her own words in purple appeared on the screen. "I'm surprised to see you online at this hour."

"Haha. Today's my uncle's wedding. I'm just waiting for my dad to finish getting ready. He's such a nerd."

"I can see your filial resemblance."

There was a pause before his next reply. "It'd be nice if you could go with me. It's gonna be really boring."

"I don't think I would be very much fun."

"More fun than being alone around all those people I don't know."

"You always delight me with your marvelous compliments, John."

"I didn't mean it like that and you know it. I meant it'd be nice to have someone to talk to."

"Yes, we could insult the guests' taste in formal wear together."

There was a long pause before his next reply and Rose sat back in her desk chair. It was not like John to take so long. He rarely considered his words and he almost always announced even a momentary absence.

"Are you in a bad mood today?"

It was her turn to pause now. Neither was it like him to be so direct.

"No, John."

"Because you seem really hostile. I was hoping you'd be on before I had to go to this stupid wedding so I'd have someone to talk to."

"I'm sorry. I have a lot on my mind. I didn't mean to insult you."

"Oh! Is your interview today?"

"It's tomorrow."

"Well I don't think you have anything to worry about. I'm sure you'll do great. You're like the smartest person I know."

"Thank you. I wish I had your confidence."

"They'd have to be idiots to reject you."

"It's unusual for someone my age to attend college. They may be concerned about my maturity."

"Jeez. It's only two years. It's not that big of a deal."

"Let's hope they see it that way, or that my tutor's testimony will convince them of it."

"Haha, I'm sure they'll be able to see it just by talking to you. Oh dang my dad's ready. I gotta go. Talk to you later."

And then a moment later, "Don't freak out."

Rose smiled and swiveled her chair around to look out the window.

 

***

 

Rose whiled away her time searching through obscure blogs. Where people announced their most personal truths at the void unheard. Rose would read these frank logs and come to feel she knew the authors so honest were they. At least the ones Rose read. There was no shortage of preening and posturing, but that was Strider's venue. Rose instead saw something beautiful in their ignored confessions. Something that bared a nerve in man, exposed his fear of the truth about life. All pleas remained unheeded.

Hours passed and the rain started up again, blown at an angle against her window. The rain began to cascade down more heavily than it had all season. Rose turned around to look out the window. The sky had darkened without her noticing and the sun shone only through thin patches in the clouds, coming down to the ground in beams. Rose wondered if her tutor would cancel today because of the weather. She hoped he didn't, he couldn't afford to. She needed his help for the interview tomorrow.

Her monitor went black with a flash as she shut her computer down in caution. Rose had seen no lighting, heard no thunder, but from the look of things outside they could not be far off. Rose stood up and grabbed a battered sketchbook that had been sitting on her desk and then cradled it underneath her arm as she exited the room. She walked idly through the hallway to a slow rhythm in her head, stretching her legs forward to meet the syncopation with a bounce. As she went down the short staircase she wondered whether the rain battering the side of the house would wake her mother early or put her into a deep trance that would hold her all day. At this point Rose didn't even know which one she would prefer.

The den was still unlit and it looked as if it were evening rather than still before noon. The clouds had amassed so thickly that no sun now came through and it was as if the long droplets were dyed black. They smacked the pocked stone of the balcony and exploded in star patterns. They spiraled down drooping pine needles one after another each wanting to arrive before the next. Rose could see the rain was cold; every creature was hiding, even those that thrived on water. Rose approached the windows and sat down cross legged on the pristine white carpet. The droplets splayed themselves out against the glass presenting themselves to her for her approval. Rose remained aloof.

She placed her pencil against the rough taupe sketch paper and her arm moved without direction tracing sprawling curves that twined up at their edges, folded into themselves leaving a trail of bitter charcoal on the page. She pressed down hard on the pencil and shook her arm creating thick black lines of shadows pouring off the figure. Its many grasping arms came through the veil flailing in search. The being pierced space so great was its loneliness but anything it found would be immediately destroyed by its unchecked power. It would always consume that which it wanted most in its passion.

Rose was so enthralled by the act of creation that she didn't notice her mother walk up behind her, recently awoken and already an image of false composure. Here posture was straight and her arms were crossed over her chest as she watched her daughter draw before the rain. She was silent and did not move; there was no light behind her to cast her shadow forward. She could see little of what her daughter was drawing from over her shoulder but she watched anyway, intently.

Still, something alerted Rose to her mother's presence and she stopped moving her arm. She could feel there was somebody else in the room. It was different than before though she could not place how. Slowly she turned around, afraid of what she might see.

She scowled through her relief. Her mother pretended not to notice this. "It's really coming down."

Rose and her mother stared at each other in the darkness. Finally Rose said "Please, continue. I've never heard it put more aptly."

Her mother stepped forward ignoring that too. "I hope the power doesn't go out. Who knows how long it would be before they could fix it.

Rose turned back around to the window and hunched over her drawing to hide it from her mother's eyes.

"Dear, would you go into the storeroom and get the emergency candles? So we don't have to hunt for them in the dark."

"There hasn't even been any lightning."

"I know. But it wouldn't hurt to have them just in case."

Rose turned her head around but did not move her shoulders; she glared at her mother from the corners of her eyes. "Then why don't you get them?"

"Because I've got to get the flashlights and check to make sure the generator is working."

"I think you're being paranoid. It's only rain."

"Don't be silly. I just want to be prepared. It's easier to do now."

"I'm busy, we can look for the candles with a flashlight if the power goes out."

"You'll have plenty of time to draw in the dark if the power goes out. I've just asked you to do one small thing."

Rose gritted her teeth. That was the point. Her mother only ever bothered to talk to her to inconvenience her with some small useless request. It was never about Rose. She didn't say that though. "Fine, I'll get them."

Rose stood up, grabbing her sketchbook, and crossed the room into the kitchen without looking at her mother. In between it and the dining room was the door that led down to the basement. Rose descended the cold wooden stairs with creaks that resounded against the narrow walls. She did not bother turning on the light.

The stairwell opened out into the lounge. Apparently this room was often used when her father was still alive. Her parents would throw parties here but that had all ended now. The long black leather sofa that ran along the wall sat frozen, untouched; the bar was nearly empty of alcohol, most of it having been pilfered for her mother's personal stash; the pool table that sat in the corner under a drooping lamp had felt of the brightest green, as if never touched. Once, while snooping in her mother's room, Rose had found a video cassette marked 'Rose's Third Birthday' that couldn't be watched since there were no VCRs. It had been filmed down here. The only person who came for Rose's last birthday had been her tutor.

She turned to the storeroom that was beside the stairs and switched on the light. The walls were bare, exposing the studs, and were covered by standup metal shelves. Her mother felt it necessary to keep all kinds of items in case of emergencies. Everything from extra blankets to medical supplies. There was enough that they could set up a relief station during a disaster, not that they ever would. How would people find their way out here into the middle of nowhere anyway? They had stocks of canned goods and jugs of water as well but those were upstairs in the pantry.

She rifled around on the shelves, through stacks of batteries, pillows, and even decks of playing cards. It was excessive, greedy, like a fallout shelter. Finally she found the candles by the battery-powered radios, on the whole other side of the room from the batteries themselves, and on a higher shelf than the decorative candles. She grabbed two boxes and went back upstairs.

When Rose came back into the den her tutor was standing there, drenched from the walk from his car to the door even though he had an umbrella. He was a short mustachioed man who covered his balding head in a bowler. He smiled at Rose when she walked in holding sketchbook and candles.

"Mr Roeber."

"You didn't think I'd miss today because of a little rain, did you?"

"I wouldn't expect you to risk your life for it."

His smile widened. "By missing it I'd be risking yours."

She shook her head and sat the candles and sketchbook down on one of the tables near the sofas. "That's not true. I'd only have to wait two years or try another college. If you injured yourself you couldn't undo it."

"I assure you I didn't risk myself unnecessarily. I've lived here for many years and driven in much worse weather than this."

"You might have waited and seen if the rain would let up."

"I didn't want to wait for it to get worse." He stepped forward and his smile gave way. "It almost sounds as if you're unhappy to see me."

"That's not true."

"I'd understand if it were. I'm sure you're nervous about tomorrow. My being here only forces you to worry but that's the important thing. You should have confidence. And you would be right to."

"I don't want to say something I shouldn't in my surety."

"Saying something wrong is better than saying nothing at all."

"I'm not so sure that's true in this situation."

He laughed and stepped away. The den remained unlit. Rose supposed her mother had met him out in the rain.

"You should listen more to your elders. We have experience on our side."

"I have to do what I think is right. You may be correct but I don't think it's true for me."

He laughed again. "I guess I'll just have to trust you. But you don't have any reason to worry, you'll do fine."

"It's hard not to worry when you want something this badly."

"Why? You said it yourself, it's only a matter of two years. You could use them to enjoy the last of your childhood."

"Because I can't stand it here."

He frowned and stepped back as she walked along the back wall, running her hand against the smooth wood of the mantle over the fireplace.

"My mother's kept me locked in this house my whole life. she wouldn't even buy me a car for my sixteenth birthday though she squanders money on useless things for herself. This is my chance to leave and I want everything to go right."

She did not bother to look up at the portrait. She never wanted to see it again. The portrait was a lie; Rose's life had never been like that and now it never would be. It seemed to mock her, filling the room with a perpetual acrid haze. She let her arm drop back down to her side.

"I'm surprised she hasn't forbidden me from attending."

"Rose, your mother only does the things she does because she's concerned for you. She wants you to be safe."

"Well she's killing me in the process. I can't take it. I don't feel like I'm really even alive."

"You'll forgive her someday. She may be mistaken but she only wants what's best for you."

Rose sighed and dropped herself down onto the sofa opposite the stairs. She picked her legs up onto the couch and leaned over her upright knees.

"Maybe after I've gotten out of here and am allowed to forget it all. But as long as I'm trapped here I won't be able to. That's why this interview has to go well. I don't know how much more of this I can deal with."

Her tutor approached her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Rose suppressed the urge to flinch. She was unused to being touched.

"This isn't your only opportunity to leave. I know it may feel that way but it's not. There are many things you can do in pursuit of education beyond attending college."

Rose slid away from him and his hand. "Like what? Should I take some internship so my days consist of doing menial tasks for some ignorant blowhard? No thanks. I feel as if that's enough of the case already."

"Don't be so negative. They aren't all like that and it would look good on a college application. Besides that wasn't what I was talking about."

"Well then what?"

"For starters you could travel. There are programs for promising students your age, so that they can fill their palettes with experience."

"I suppose, but opportunities like that are highly competitive. Even if I were chosen there's the problem of convincing my mother to let me to go."

"We can cross those bridges when we come to them. Those aren't your only options you know."

"Mr Roeber! I'm glad to see you could make it."

It was her mother. She too was now drenched and her once perfectly styled hair now hung down in blond tresses, darkened by the rain. She didn't seem to notice and was beaming a false smile of cordiality.

"Ms Lalonde." The tutor doffed his hat and gave a slight bow. "I'm not frightened of a little inclement weather."

Rose's mother turned to her. "The generator is working flawlessly. If the power goes out it should last a few hours. Did you get the candles like I asked?"

Rose pointed at the table on the other end of the room where she had set the candles on top of her sketchbook.

"Thank you dear," her mother said as she started to cross the room.

"Ms Lalonde," the tutor said, "your daughter and I were just discussing her interview tomorrow."

Rose cringed. Why did he feel the need to bring that up?

Her mother turned around. "Oh yes. I'd forgotten." She smiled again, this time at Rose. A forced and practiced smile that made Rose sick. How could her tutor think this woman loved her? "I'm sure you'll do splendidly." Her mother turned back around to the real object of her concern and picked up the candles. "I hope these will be enough."

"Well, I'll leave you two alone now. I'm sure you have important things to discuss." And with that her mother headed off towards the east wing, towards her bedroom.

When Rose was sure her mother was out of earshot she said "See? She doesn't even care."

Her tutor frowned. "That's not true, Rose. It's just hard for her to express these things."

Rose huffed in exasperation. "And how would you know? She's more than capable of expressing her concern about some stupid candles but she forgets completely about my interview. That doesn't sound like a mother who cares for her child."

"Maybe it's because she's afraid to see you go. Did you think that maybe she hadn't really forgotten? You can't know everything Rose."

"And that would somehow make it better?"

"No, but it would make it forgivable. We're all only human."

She sighed and fell against the back of the sofa, her feet slipping down to the floor. That was the problem. Everyone was only a weak ignorant human. Including herself.


End file.
